


My True Love's Hair

by sweetbutterbliss



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Embarrassment, Fumbling!Arthur, Greasy!Eames, Haircuts, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Unapologetic Ode To Arthur's Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is gorgeous, almost in an unreal way. He has a large, plush mouth and crinkles around his eyes that makes Arthur think he laughs a lot. His hair is a little long and a little greasy, slicked back and pulled into a tiny ponytail at the back of his neck. He is broad, holy fuck is he broad; his arms are thick and tattooed. He has five or six bracelets on one wrist and just as many necklaces on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My True Love's Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HTH31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HTH31/gifts).



> beta'd by [ Sib ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sibilant/profile) and [ Ryn ](http://yousmileiclick.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Title from a Nina Simone song.
> 
> a birfday gift for [ Heather ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com), without who none of my fic would exist or if it did it would be completely unreadable. Also my days would be considerably duller. So Happy Birthday and thank you for catching all my mistakes, snarking with me on chat and of course the many many conversations about Tom Hardy.

Arthur isn't very close to his mother. Not in a sad, bad childhood way, but they both live busy lives across the country. They catch up when they can, and Arthur is perfectly fine with that. He doesn't need some overbearing person telling him he should date more, or eat more, or do whatever more.

He doesn't need it, because he already has it in the form of his tiny best friend, Ariadne. She barely reaches his shoulder and she still manages to control him somehow. She actually says things like _You're too skinny, eat something_ or _When are you going to settle down with somebody nice?_ He has reminded her often that she is not actually his Bubbe, usually between bites of chicken soup or something equally wholesome.

He loves her , he really does. And he can admit, to himself, that if it weren't for her he would probably work 800 hours a week and subsist off coffee and vending machine snacks. But sometimes he hates her. He hates her right this very second, actually, because she has bullied him into getting his hair cut. He has resisted for so long that it's actually getting unmanageable. It reaches past the nape of his neck and is brushing across his starched collars; he has to constantly push it out of his face when he’s bent over paperwork. It curls darkly around his ears, tickling him when an errant curl slips into his actual ear. It is thick, and gets in his mouth while he sleeps, and he wakes up choking on his own hair. Also, it makes him look about fifteen.  
So yeah, he probably does need a haircut. But he'll do it in his own time. He doesn't need Ariadne making the fucking appointment for him and then threatening him with bodily harm; she's been taking self defense classes and likes to list the most vulnerable part of a male assailant at him when she’s frustrated.

She may be little, but it doesn't take a lot to knee someone in the groin. And he has no doubt she would do it. So fine, a haircut. He'll wait in this painfully hip waiting room, feeling like the oldest twenty five year old in the world. Everyone is wearing skinny jeans and ironic t-shirts. The receptionist has a completely shaved head. He hopes she isn't going to cut his hair… he doesn't trust someone who can't even do their own hair.

One of the hairdressers comes out of the back room, hollering to the receptionist.

"Lara! Darling. I love the new hair. Or lack thereof. Didn't I tell you, you have a lovely shaped head? It's perfect, like an egg." He puts his big hand on the woman's crown and cups it, and from here Arthur can see her blush. If that man was touching him he'd be doing more than blushing, that's for sure. He is gorgeous, almost in an unreal way. He has a large, plush mouth and crinkles around his eyes that makes Arthur think he laughs a lot. His hair is a little long and a little greasy, slicked back and pulled into a tiny ponytail at the back of his neck. He is broad, holy fuck is he broad; his arms are thick and tattooed. He has five or six bracelets on one wrist and just as many necklaces on. He is gesturing with his hands as he talks to Lara, a lazy smile on his face.

Arthur realizes he's staring and puts his head down to look at his phone. He texts something to Ari.

_I hate you._

Only a minute passes before a response.

_Why do you hate me today, Arthur?_ He can almost hear her patient tone and tries not to roll his eyes too hard.

_You didn't tell me about the hot guy. He better not be who you made the appointment with._

He waits but there is only a telling silence. He can see the man turn the appointment book towards himself and run one big finger down the page.

_Please don't call my name. Please don't call my name._ Arthur chants, staring hard at his phone.

"Next… next. Alright… Arthur?" The man calls out, squinting at the waiting room. Arthur sighs heavily and stands, pulling his messenger bag up with him.

"That's me."

"Lovely." The man gives him a blatant once over and smirk. Arthur can feel his stupid ears heating up and ducks his head.

"Well, come on then. Come into my office." Eames crooks a finger and walks over to a station, placing his hands on the back of the chair.

Arthur follows him and dumps his bag on the floor before sitting on the edge of the chair, his back straight and his hands on his knees.

"Hullo. My name is Eames. Yes, like the furniture designer." Eames comes around to lean against his table, his arms crossed and his back pressed against the mirror. He stretches his legs out and crosses those as well, an easy smile on his face. "So what can I do for you, darling?"

"Um," Arthur replies, thrown by the pet name and the accent. "Haircut?"

"Well I assumed you didn't need a perm. What kind of haircut then?" Eames laughs a little and reaches forward to curl an errant hair around his finger. "You have gorgeous hair. I hope you don't want some dreadful high and tight or something equally as sensible."

This close, Arthur can smell the other man; he smells like smoke and faintly of chemicals. Arthur swallows and nods.

"Um… just a trim. I guess. It's just getting too long."

"So, what, a few inches then?" Eames leans back and Arthur feels like he can breathe again. He makes a mental note to just get laid already, this is ridiculous. Not to mention pathetic.

"I guess." Arthur shrugs. "I just don't want it on my collar anymore."

"Right. Well I can work with that. Come on, let's get you all washed up."

Eames leads the way back to a curtained area where the sinks stand. The room is empty and Eames gestures to a chair then turns to the cabinets, pulling out a cape and some giant white bottles. He reads the backs out loud to himself, putting some back. Arthur perches on the edge of the chair, chewing quietly on his lip. He is startled by a whip-thin man rushing into the room, the curtains fluttering behind him.

"Eames! I'm so sorry. Was out back." He shoots a quick smile at Arthur. "So are we just doing a regular wash?"

"Don't worry about it, Jonas. I got this one."

"But… I mean… I was just a little late. I can totally do it." Jonas puts his hands on his hips. His face scrunches in confusion. Arthur watches them, just as confused.

"Oh, you're fine. I just feel like doing it." Eames shrugs casually and puts two bottles on the counter near Arthur's sink.

"But you never wash..."

"But I want to this time," Eames interrupts with a tight smile. "Now go away."

"Um okay. I guess… let me know if you need anything?" Jonas is backing out of the room, his steps hesitant.

"I think we'll be fine," Eames says firmly and re-shuts the curtains behind the retreating man.

"Is everything okay?" Arthur asks.

"Of course it is. Now sit back and relax." Eames pushes Arthur gently back into the chair and drapes the black cape around his shoulders, fastening it around the neck. Arthur suppresses a shudder as Eames’ hands skim across his neck. Eames stands behind him and gently guides his head into the sink. He smooths his hands up Arthur's neck, pushing all the hair up and back.

"Right, now tell me if it's too hot or cold?"

Eames turns on the water and begins wetting Arthur's hair; it's perfect, and Arthur closes his eyes and sighs. He can hear Eames humming quietly to himself as he scratches at Arthur's scalp, scraping the hair back at his temples. After a minute or two, he shuts the water off. Arthur keeps his eyes closed. He can hear the squelch of shampoo, then feels warm hands sinking into his wet hair. The shampoo smells like mint and Arthur's scalp tingles.

Eames doesn't say anything, just keeps humming something Arthur can't put his finger on. Eames’ hands feel so good and the tingle seems to be moving down Arthur's body. He can feel the tension oozing out of him, almost like Eames is rinsing it down the sink with the shampoo. He almost forgets to be uncomfortable and decides maybe he doesn't hate Ari quite so much.  
The conditioner is the same minty soothing fragrance and Eames is taking his time working it into Arthur's scalp and hair. He even slips down and rubs the back of Arthur's neck with the pads of his fingers. Arthur can feel himself heating up, a low burn in his stomach. He is so very grateful for the voluminous black cape since he is developing an embarrassing stiffy.

He tries to think of unsexy things like his 900 year old boss and quarterly reports. But he feels so good and Eames is so very hot and it's been way too long since Arthur's gotten any. He is helpless and just hopes it doesn't show too much.

Once the last rinse is done and Eames wraps a towel around his head, helping him sit up, Arthur is walking a bit stiff and knows his face is burning. He sits back in the chair at the station as Eames finds his comb and scissors. Arthur hasn't gotten a lot of professional hair cuts in his life, but he thinks Eames is a bit more touchy feely than most. In between combing and cutting, he'll stop to check his progress and feather a hand lightly down the side of Arthur's neck or give an absent squeeze to his shoulders.

He keeps up a running chatter in a low mumble. He doesn't seem perturbed that Arthur replies with quick, one word answers. Underneath his cape, Arthur's cock is aching and he has his hands fisted tightly in his pants.

Finally Eames seems to be finished and turns Arthur's chair to face him. He bends over to check his work from the front, pulling at the sides to make sure it is even. His face his right in Arthur's, his breath ghosting over his face. Arthur swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"There, I think we are done then. Would you like a blow out?" Eames doesn't step back, his mouth is so close to Arthur's. Arthur would only have to lean forward a little. He shakes his head.  
"Um. No thank you. I have to go back to work." Arthur would actually love to stay and get a blow out… job… whatever. He just can't handle it anymore and needs to get out before he embarrasses himself.  
"Alright. It was lovely to meet you, Arthur." Eames lowers his voice, his accent swallowing the r's, and Arthur actually shudders. Eames smirks and licks his lips, deliberate and slow. He reaches down to lower the chair and _accidentally_ brushes across Arthur's erection. Arthur closes his eyes and lets out a low moan.

_Oh god_. He slams his eyes open to Eames’ still smirking face and wants to die of embarrassment. He reaches up quickly and unclasps the cape, pulling his messenger bag up and jostling Eames out of the way. He holds the bag in front of himself and scrambles out of the chair.

"I have to go." He doesn't run, but it is a very near thing as he slams out the door. He can't hear the bald lady calling him back. Once he reaches the parking lot, he start to jog until he reaches his grey Prius. He slams his way in and has to hit the start button twice before he can get it to start. He knows he is still red and curses himself as he turns into the flow of traffic. He can only imagine how pathetic he seemed to Eames. Well, he hopes Ari is happy. He has his fucking haircut.

***

"Uh, yes. Hello. I was in there a couple of days ago and I… um… forgot to pay for my haircut. "   
Arthur clears his throat nervously. "Is there anyway I can pay for it over the phone?"

He taps his foot and fidgets with his tie, ignoring Ari's silent laughter. He sticks his tongue out at her, then turns his back.

"I can't? Are you sure? Okay. Yeah. I'll come by later today. "

He hangs up, slumps into the chair across from his best friend and covers his eyes.

"Ari you have to go pay for me. I can't face it."

"Arthur, you face down terrifyingly important board members almost everyday. What's the difference?"

Arthur groans. "Please?" He asks, knowing the answer will be no.

"Nope. You gotta do it, man." Ari isn't even hiding her laughter now. Arthur hates her.

"I hate you."

"That's ok. You'll come around."

"I could just not pay. It's not like they know me or anything."  
"Oh right. You could. But then for the rest of your life you will be haunted by that one thing you didn't pay for. You'll be a criminal. The same guy who makes me pay for the grapes I eat at the grocery store."

Arthur drops his hands and glares at her. "Have I mentioned how much I hate you?"

"Only once or twice... every hour for the past three days."

Arthur knocks his head back against the wall and sighs.

***

Eames is closing up. He has sent everyone else home and is sweeping while listening to terrible loud dance music. It’s soothing and if he wants to mop his own floors then that’s his business. His mind is elsewhere as he goes through the familiar motions. He is thinking about Arthur. He really hasn't thought about much else for the past few days. The beautiful man with the long, nervous fingers has somehow lodged in his brain. He hadn't meant to scare the man off, certainly. He knows he didn't misread the signals, yet he'd been too forward, as usual.

Lara and Jonas have been teasing him endlessly about his very special customer who got his hair washed by the boss and didn't have to pay. He'd growled at them to sod off and they'd only laughed louder.

Eames isn't a stranger to wanting a customer. He is hot and kind of a big deal, usually he didn't even have to try. Somehow he'd screwed this one up, though. He isn't usually this bothered by a lost conquest. Plenty of fish in the sea, plenty of hot gay men in a hair salon. He just wants the other man, and it had come as a sad revelation that it isn't even about the sex. He wants to have a conversation and take the man out. Then sex. And more conversation.

_Ugh, get a bloody grip, you knob._

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. He starts to yell that they are closed, look at the bloody sign, when he sees it's Arthur staring at him through the glass, with the most miserable look on his face that Eames has ever seen on such a pretty bloke. He has the sudden urge to kiss it away and shakes his head.

He puts the broom against the wall and slowly makes his way to the front door; flips the lock and pulls it open. He is buffeted by warm summer air and gestures for Arthur to come in. He almost re-locks the door, then thinks better of it, imagining how creepy that might look.

Arthur is standing awkwardly near the reservation desk, his hands shoved into his tight trousers. Eames swallows as he takes the other man in - Arthur is dressed in a matching waistcoat, oxford rolled up to the elbows and tie loosened. His hair is slicked back, sweaty curls springing from its hold and curling around his ears.

"Look. I'm really sorry." Arthur's face is blank and his voice rote, like he is speaking from a script. "I'm not usually that… socially incompetent."

"Darling, such big words for so late. There's no need to apologize." Eames moves closer to lean against the desk. He doesn't want to scare him away again, yet he can't help himself - he needs to be closer.

"No. There really is. Please just accept it."

"I find that when apologizing, it doesn't do to demand things of people. It kind of ruins the whole apology." He smirks.

"I'm sorry," Arthur mumbles, turning red. "Again."

"Don't mention it. Would you like a beer?"

"A beer? But… I came to pay you. I owe you."

"Well Arthur. I request my payment in time. If you please." He swipes a toothpick and places it in his mouth rolling it back and forth. A nervous tic he picked up since quitting smoking. He is delighted to see Arthur's eyes darken and follow the movement of his mouth.

"You just want to spend time with me? How long?" Arthur's eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

"Let's see. I have beer and some very spicy Thai leftovers in the back. How about we eat and then see how it goes from there?"

"Fair enough." Arthur still seems suspicious, and yet Eames can see his mouth twitch in the beginnings of a smile.

"Right then. Follow me." He leads Arthur back into his office.

***

They sit on the floor, slurping noodles out of cardboard cartons. Eames is impressed to see Arthur handle chopsticks better than most Americans he's met. They sip their beer to wash down the heat and Eames can see Arthur slowly relax. The man is beautifully flushed from the heat and maybe from Eames. He has the most bloody gorgeous dimples Eames has ever seen and he feels himself losing it. He thought he wanted the man before, and now - after having an actual conversation - he can't help himself. He is completely enamored.

They talk, at first in fits and starts, with a few awkward silences, until they are laughing and saying things like "I know!" and "Me too."

They don't agree on everything, and Eames finds himself inexplicably charmed when Arthur points a chopstick at him and tells him he is a fucking idiot if he actually thinks Blade Runner is a good movie. All with a furious (and entirely adorable) scowl.

After the food runs out and the beers have made them just loose enough, Eames scoots closer.  
The kiss isn't fireworks or bright lights. It's a little messy and their rhythm is a bit off. But it's soft and warm, a little stinging from all the red chili paste Arthur added to his food. Eames takes his time, one hand cupped around the back of Arthur's head, tangling in his hair and tugging the curls lightly.

They break apart with a gasp. Arthur smiles at him and Eames feels something in his chest flutter as he smiles back.

Later, after more quiet dates, he will press Arthur into his bed and tease him about not running away this time. He will take him apart bit by bit with his hands and his tongue, until Arthur can never imagine leaving Eames behind again.

Eames will gain a mother hen in his life with Ari and pretend to hate it. They will gang up on Arthur and make him wear a coat when it is damp outside. Eames will help him slip it on and then grab him by the lapels and snog the life out of him. He'll send him out into the rain looking dazed and with a faraway smile on his face.

Arthur will never ever forget to get his hair cut and keeps it just a bit too long because he knows Eames likes it like that.

But that's later. For now, they sip their beers and kiss lazily, their mouths red and swollen with heat.

**Author's Note:**

> My [ tumblr. ](http://sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com/)


End file.
